My Dog

(I laughed to myself because the title sounds like a 2nd grader's first story.)

I have to tell you about my dog, Smoltzie. (Yes, he is named after John Smoltz, pitcher for the Braves, which must have put a jinx on him because he's out for the season.)

I got Smoltzie through sheer happenstance when my station manager's wife heard about him through their dogs' vet. Smoltzie (nee Boyz) lived with a man in Woodruff with his brother, and since they didn't get along really well, his owner was going to get rid of him. I found out on Thursday, October 11, and only had until Friday to claim him because the man was going to take him to the animal shelter. Well, I just couldn't let that happen. I had planned on getting a dog later, once I got settled into the house with the fenced yard that I was closing on the following week. It was a pretty inconvenient time to get a dog, but once I met him, that was that. (Since I had planned on getting a shelter dog anyway, I figured I'd cut him off at the pass and not have to go and look at all those poor dogs and end up wanting to bring them all home.)

Smoltzie is such a good, sweet, obedient dog, but like most canines, he can get into a little trouble when not supervised. Such as when:
- The wind blew the crawl space door open and he drug various objects that were stored there around the yard.

- He got into the big trash can on the carport and drug the trash all over the yard (multiple times).

- He escaped from the fence twice, one time forcing me to look for him through tears for more than an hour, and the other ending with him running down the middle of the road to meet me as I approached the house.

- After the above-mentioned incidents forced me to keep him in the house while I was gone, he got into the kitchen trash can and spread trash all over my living room - okay, he's done this a few times.

- Over time, he's destroyed at least five or six picture frames.

- He used my digital camera as a chew toy and ruined the preview screen.

- He tore up the cat's scratch box and left cardboard and catnip around the house (at least it wasn't the cat).

- He's destroyed two cookbooks, the cover to my church directory and my Sunday School teaching book (ironically the pages he tore up were weeks I wasn't teaching).

- He tore holes in both sides of the couch cushions and made my house look like Christmas with all the white stuffing spread out everywhere. (The couch was already in rough shape, so this one isn't as terrible as it might seem.)

That's all I can remember at this point. I know it seems like a lot. (I really didn't think it was until I started typing it.) He really is sweet, regardless of how it seems. And most days, he's very good - it's just when he gets attention-starved or restless or, quite frankly, is trying to "hold it" until he gets outside that he starts his disruptions.

I try so hard to be mad at him and sometimes I do a good job for a while, but then he looks at me with those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes, and I just melt. He feels guilty. He really does. And I always give him another chance.

Isn't that the way God is with us? We mess up so many times, sometimes destroying the plans He had for us and driving that wedge between Him and us. Yet, we say we're sorry and ask for forgiveness and He always gives it. There's another chance waiting for us in His loving arms.

I'm in the process of fixing the fence to be able to keep Smoltzie outside again, which I hope will alleviate some of his mischief. I don't want God to have to keep reining me in to keep me from doing what I shouldn't and not doing what I should. I don't want to have to come to Him with sad, puppy-dog eyes and ask for chance after chance. I want it to be my looks of love and adoration, not guilt and shame, that make Him melt.